Eye for an Eye, an (Heroes of Quantico Book #2): A Novel (20 page)

He sat down in an antique wicker chair Nick had scrounged up at some garage sale, the fibers creaking as they accommodated his weight. Oblivious to the oppressive heat, he drew a deep breath, turned the pages over, and began to read.

Dear Mr. Sanders: Please forgive our long delay in responding to the letter you sent following Jason’s death. As you can imagine, this has been a very difficult time.

Your letter, however, touched us deeply. Until we received it, we had allowed anger to consume us. Anger at you, anger at the FBI, anger at the junkie who chose to rob the convenience store that morning, anger at God. It has taken us weeks to work through that. But with much prayer and reflection, we have found some measure of peace.

From your letter, it was clear to us you carry a heavy burden of grief and guilt. We, too, grieve. We cannot offer you a reprieve from that, for the loss of a young life filled with promise is, indeed, a sadness of immeasurable depth. But we hope we can ease your guilt by letting you know we don’t blame you for the death of our son. From all we have learned, you acted in an appropriate, even heroic, manner. You did your best to stop the thief and preserve the lives in that store. Our son’s sudden, unexpected move could not have been predicted. Had you not acted, there is a good chance our son would have died anyway— and perhaps others, as well.

We have found great comfort in two Bible verses, and we pass them on to you in the hope you, too, will find them consoling. We also take comfort in knowing that while Jason’s life on earth was short, he lives on in a better place, with the Lord.

From Romans, “We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope.”

And from the thirty-third Psalm, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.”

May hope and solace ease the burden in your heart. Our prayers are with you, and we ask for yours in return as we continue our journey toward healing.

The signatures blurred. Leaning forward, Mark rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his head, letting the letter dangle from his clasped hands.

It had been years since he’d been overcome by tears. His work on the HRT demanded rigid emotional control, and he’d learned to turn an impassive face to the world. Whatever feelings he experienced as a result of the horror he saw remained contained. Even after the shooting incident, when he’d been raw and bleeding inside as well as out, he hadn’t shed a tear. The feelings were there, yet they’d gone unexpressed.

But the letter from Jason’s parents had done him in.

He knew people needed to find outlets for their emotions.

That’s why he and Coop had always pushed themselves to the limit in training. Physical exertion had been a release valve for the tension and stress and trauma of their job. And it had worked for many years. But after the shooting it had failed him. The intense effort he’d put into rehab hadn’t given him release from the emotional baggage of the shooting. Like the new patient Emily was worried about, Mark hadn’t found an adequate way to deal with the loss of an innocent life. His recent, tentative foray into prayer had provided some relief. But the understanding—and absolution—of the boy’s parents had been the missing piece.

The tears flowed down his cheeks unchecked. Tears of cleansing and gratitude and liberation. Thanks to the generosity and compassion of Jason Wheeler’s parents, he at last felt able to put that chapter of his life to rest and move on.

“Mark?”

The worried query filtered into his mind as if from a distance.

Without looking up, he handed Emily the letter in silence, not trusting his voice. Not wanting her to see his tears. He was grateful when she took it in silence and gave him the time—and space—to regroup.

Several minutes passed before she dropped down to his level and laid her hand on his knee. “They must be very special people.”

Her voice caught on the last word.

He wiped an eye on each sleeve of his T-shirt before he raised his head. Moisture clung to Emily’s eyelids too, he noted.

“I never expected anything like this.” His words came out hoarse. And ragged. “I thought they’d hate me.”

“You did your best, Mark. It’s obvious they recognize that.”

“I don’t know if I could have been as generous in their place.”

As the full measure of their benevolence began to register, it awed—and humbled—him.

“Faith can give people incredible strength.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

She touched his cheek, still damp from tears. “Could you use a hug?”

Instead of responding, he stood and drew her to her feet in one smooth motion, enfolding her in his arms. And as he clung to her, he gave thanks for the gifts he’d been given. Absolution from two strangers who owed him nothing, and the comfort of this extraordinary woman’s arms. Both imbued him with a strength that had nothing to do with bench presses or elliptical machines. The latter gave him the muscles to endure physical trials. Today’s gifts gave him a far superior strength: to simply endure.

“I wondered where you two had wandered . . . oops.”

As Nick stuck his head out the door, Emily started to twist free of Mark’s embrace. But he tugged her back, holding her firmly within the circle of his arms, her back pressed against his chest, his hands looped around her waist.

“Sorry,” Nick apologized. “I need to talk to you when you’re . . . when you have a minute, Mark.” Sandwich in hand, he beat a hasty retreat, letting the screen door bang behind him.

“Why do I always pick friends whose timing stinks?”

Emily turned her head to look up at him, a whisper of a smile hovering at her lips. “At least he made a discreet exit.”

“True. But something’s up. He never changed clothes.” He sighed and tightened his hold on her, bending his head to nuzzle her neck. “I have a feeling duty is about to call.”

He could feel the sudden tension in her body and knew what she was thinking. He’d studied a bit of psychology, himself. He was aware that an emotional download could leave a person shaky and off balance. That driving a car in that condition was risky. And that going into a volatile situation requiring sharp reflexes and absolute focus could be dangerous.

“I’m okay, Em.” He stroked her arms in a soothing, rhythmic motion, his tone gentle. “I’ve had a lot of practice compartmentalizing emotion. You don’t need to worry.”

“Okay.” She gave a stilted nod.

Stepping beside her, he draped an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the door. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

As they entered the kitchen, Nick was standing by the sink wolfing down the last of his sandwich, his BlackBerry on the counter beside him.

“What’s up?” Mark asked.

“We’ve got some suspicious activity on the South Side, and we need to beef up surveillance there. I volunteered us.”

There was a lot Nick wasn’t saying. Mark could read it in his eyes. But Emily didn’t need to know any more. She was already spooked enough.

“No problem. Gets me off the painting detail, anyway.” He turned to Emily. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks for the lunch, Emily. I may take you up on your painting offer another time.” Nick washed down the last bite of sandwich with a long swallow of soda. “Let me take a look around before you head out to the car.”

Mark helped Emily gather up the remnants of their lunch, and three minutes later Nick stepped back inside.

“You’re clear.”

Taking her arm, Mark went out the door first. Nick followed, waiting on the porch as he scanned the parklike setting.

“I don’t want to linger in the open,” Mark said as they reached her car. Pulling her close once again in a brief embrace, he brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’ll call you later about church.”

They’d planned to attend services together tomorrow, with Nick in tow, but Mark had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

“Don’t worry about it, Mark. It sounds like things are hopping on Nick’s case. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

She hesitated for an instant, searching his face, before sliding into the car.

Once she was out of sight, Mark turned back to the house.

He hadn’t given her that promise lightly. Nor had he lied when he’d told her he was good at switching focus.

Or he had been, until a certain Emily Lawson had reentered his life.

His guilt over Jason’s death, Coop’s announcement about leaving the HRT, the job offer from Steve, the letter he’d received today—even the threat of their unknown sniper. He could temporarily forget all those things when the job demanded it.

Emily, however, wasn’t as easy to put out of his mind.

And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

20

The organ swelled, and Emily opened her hymnbook for the final song. If things continued like this, she and Mark would never end up attending services together.

He’d sounded exhausted when they talked on the phone earlier. He and Nick hadn’t gotten home until after two in the morning, and when he’d called her at eight they were heading out again. He’d had no idea how long they’d be gone, but it sounded like he had another grueling day ahead of him. If all went well, Nick’s suspects would be arrested sometime in the next twelve hours. Mark wouldn’t be home until it was over.

Once that case was closed, more agents would be available to track down the shooter, Mark had told her. He’d assured her they were making progress, but she saw little evidence of that. As if there weren’t already enough loose ends to tie up on the shooting case itself, she knew he also owed Steve an answer on the job offer before he returned to Quantico next weekend.

To her surprise, he hadn’t pressed her about their relationship in the past few days. Just the opposite. He’d backed off a bit, keeping his displays of affection low key. A hug, a touch, a brush of the lips across her forehead. Perhaps he thought she had enough on her plate and was giving her space, she mused. He’d even downplayed her concerns about the job decision, assuring her other offers would come along if he passed on this one.

But this opportunity was a perfect fit for his skills, and they both knew it. She owed him an answer to his question. Was she willing to give their relationship a chance to develop into a serious commitment?

She’d been singing the final hymn by rote, her attention focused inward, but all at once certain parts of the lyrics began to resonate with her.

“You shall wander far in safety though you do not know the way . . . If you stand before the pow’r of hell and death is at your side, know that I am with you through it all . . . Be not afraid, I go before you always. Come follow me, and I will give you rest.”

The words were inspiring. Hope-filled. And she wanted to believe them. Wanted to tell Mark she’d subdued her fears. That she would put her trust in God and take her chances, enjoying whatever time they had together. That she could handle it if their relationship turned out to be short-lived, as hers and Grant’s had been.

But she wasn’t there yet. The fear of loss was still too great for her faith to overcome. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and let the comforting, familiar melody soothe her soul as she prayed.

Lord, please give me the courage to turn my fears over to you— before I pass up what may be the chance of a lifetime.

The girlfriend had led them straight to the third bank robbery suspect. They’d caught only a quick glimpse of him from their car as he’d cracked the door to let her in, but it had been enough to make a positive ID.

There was just one little problem.

The woman had brought her three young children with her.

Now four people, minimum, were in the duplex. Meaning the suspect had potential hostages. And he wouldn’t be afraid to use them, Mark concluded as Nick spoke to Steve by phone.

The man had killed a bank guard in one of the robberies and had a rap sheet a mile long. There was no question he was armed and dangerous. And no matter what the woman meant to him, when the chips were down Mark suspected he’d trade her life— or the lives of her children—for his freedom.

That left them with no good options. If they stormed the front door, there was a high probability someone would be killed.

On the other hand, alerting the suspect to their presence and demanding a surrender could lead to a standoff.

As he rang off, Nick gave Mark a rueful look. “Steve wants an ops plan. Like I really have time to put one together. This guy could bolt at any minute.”

Mark grinned in sympathy. It wasn’t easy being the case agent in a situation like this. “Is he on the way?”

“Yes. So is Luke.”

That didn’t surprise Mark. For a potentially volatile arrest situation of this magnitude, one of the senior special agents in charge would typically show up. And Luke Garavaglia was a hands-on kind of guy.

“You want to do a drive-by?” Mark perused the neighborhood. “Yeah. Then we’ll head over to the firehouse. Steve wants to set up the command post there. And he put the SWAT team on standby.”

The drive-by confirmed that the neighborhood was a typical South Side setup: a block of brick two-story duplexes, garages in back accessed via an alley, narrow walks leading to the porches.

The unit under surveillance was rented by a Wray Samuels, according to the intelligence Nick had run after they’d arrived.

No obvious connection to the suspect, but he’d had his share of brushes with the law too.

As they cruised by, Mark knew agents would already be moving in to watch the exits, and that unmarked units were surrounding the block. Local law enforcement would be tapped to set up a deep perimeter. The guy wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without being spotted. In fact, it would be better if he did try to leave. Agents would have him surrounded in seconds, and they could make a quick, clean arrest.

Within twenty minutes, the team had convened at the firehouse two blocks away. Nick laid out a preliminary ops plan.

In the end, inspired by the setting, they decided to have two agents dressed as firefighters try to evacuate the duplex on the premise of a gas leak.

If that went bad, they’d bring in a negotiator.

The SWAT team would be the last resort.

Stepping outside into the relentless late-afternoon sun, Mark pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. At least he and Nick had ditched their suits. They’d dressed in jeans and cotton shirts to better blend in with the neighborhood, as had the other agents who’d been called in. They paused outside to hammer out a few last details, and he shifted from one foot to the other as heat from the concrete pavement warmed the soles of his shoes.

Nearby, the black-clad SWAT team was suiting up in body armor and Kevlar helmets. He could relate to their discomfort, though they masked it well. He’d worn gear like that in even hotter conditions more often than he cared to remember.

“Okay, let’s move.”

As Luke gave the signal to take their positions, Mark checked his watch. Five o’clock. If they were lucky, this would be over in fifteen minutes and he could spend part of the day with Emily.

If they weren’t, it was going to be a very long evening.

“Steve, Carl Owens, Oakdale. Sorry to bother you on Sunday.”

“No problem. The arrests on our bank robbery case are about to go down and I’m working anyway. What’s up?”

“I found a match between the Eight List and one of the contractor lists.”

Keeping one eye on the duplex, Steve shifted the phone as he pulled a pen and notebook out of his pocket. “Who is it?”

“Guy named Dale Edwards. Works for Aiken Concrete in Fenton.”

“That fits.”

“So does his residence. He lives in Labadie.”

The rural community about forty miles from St. Louis was home to some new, high-end housing developments as the relentless urban sprawl continued, but it was also populated by small farms that could accommodate cattle, Steve knew.

Another piece fell into place.

“What else do we know about him?”

“Not much. I just found the match a few minutes ago. I did run him through NCIC, but he’s clean. You want us to contact Franklin County and pay him a visit, or would you rather have your people handle it?”

“Why don’t you coordinate the preliminary contact? Our agents are spread out on the bank arrests today. In the interim, we’ll do a background check on this guy.”

“Sounds good.”

“How did you end up with list duty at 5:30 on a Sunday, anyway?”

“I was in the office working on a homicide and found the latest contractor roster on my desk. While I waited for a call, I went through a few pages. And got lucky.”

“We were about due for another break. Keep me in the loop.”

As the line went dead, Steve considered passing on the news to Mark. But distracting an agent at a critical point in an arrest sequence wasn’t a good idea. He could brief him once Carl reported back and after they had some background on Edwards.

Besides, the match could be a coincidence. There was no guarantee Edwards was their man. At the moment, the tenuous links between him and the shooting were circumstantial. They would need a lot more evidence to connect him to the crime before any charges could be brought. And since neither Mark nor Dr. Lawson had recognized the man’s name when they’d reviewed the Eight List, there didn’t appear to be any direct connection to suggest he’d targeted one of them.

For now, Steve decided to hold off on alerting Mark. But he did put in a call to the office to initiate a background check on Dale Edwards.

This was the day.

Dale flexed his hands on the wheel and took another sip of the soda from the cooler he’d filled with cold drinks hours ago at home. He’d needed every one of them too. Sitting in the parking lot outside his quarry’s condo had been a hot job. His only break had been when he’d followed her to church earlier in the morning.

The hypocrisy of that excursion had repulsed him. Watching her smile and greet people as she’d headed toward the doors of the brick structure with the white steeple had been sickening.

How could she spend her life leading people away from the Lord, take his place as the supreme counselor, and have the gall to put in an appearance at Sunday services?

Well, she’d need all the prayers she could get before this day was over, he thought in satisfaction. His hand tightened on the soda can, denting the flimsy aluminum, and he forced himself to relax his grip. In less than two hours, she’d be meeting her maker. And facing heat far more intense than what he’d suffered as he’d sat in his stifling car all day.

From his spot in a far corner of the parking lot, he had a clear view of her porch and her car. She hadn’t taken one step out the door after her trip to church. Nor had she had any visitors. Good.

He patted his pocket, verifying he’d transferred the photo of Ruthie and Bryan from the tote bag. Then he checked his watch. Six o’clock. If no one showed up in the next hour, he’d implement his plan.

And this time, he’d finish the job.